“”
What he had discovered thus far had led the shaman to depart Fox's lands again, ever in search of herbs for his cache, in case disaster befell the Creek wolves. But he also understood the necessity of different preparations. Word had befallen his ear of steaming water a half-day's walk from the Creek, and Lecter had gathered a small assortment of herbs into a dusty tortoiseshell and set out.
He paused several times to rest the aching of his hips, the grate of the earth against his paws. At last the plume of steam heralding the hot springs rose through the treeline; Lecter gave an aggravated sigh and lengthened his stride.
The loam roundabout was moist and warm underfoot; the shaman inspected the odd mud closely before drawing near to a steam-wreathed pool of water. Intelligence aside, the most common of senses told the old wolf that the liquid was much too heated for a creature to test.
Lifting his carrier of various leaves, Lecter tipped it into the boiling water, dodging backward as a white hiss of hot fog rose immediately from the surface. He dropped the shell to the warm mud and removed himself a few paces away, watching intently as the liquid writhed and bubbled.
Then, there was a cacophonous hissing. Subtle cracks in the air and fizzing from the marsh - and a new wave of steam emanated skyward. Njal baulked at it briefly and moved on. His imaginings as to how the water was so dangerous and hot were few; attributing it to the way things are with a mental rigidity that was so fit for him. It was hot and boiling because... It was hot and boiling. With his interest slackened, the platinum-streaked warden found his attention wandering to the skies overhead. Where the mist condensed in to real cloud - looming figures that drifted across the sun, but were not so heavy as to birth rain.
Between the sterling of the sky and the misting horizon, Njal saw a figure.
He was perched within the marsh, close to the venting pools. Hunched and keenly observing. Wary at first, the traveller did not know what to make of it; but as he drew closer (thinking in terms of avoidance and eager to skirt a possible stranger today) a thick scent grabbed at his nose and captured his attention. This wolf was from the creek. Njal thought back to previous pack meetings, trying to place the figure - but he had not met him before, and was unaware of his importance, if he had any at all. Still, Njal woofed a greeting - which was partly swallowed by a third writhing crackle - and paused nearby to watch.
At the soft sound, Lecter turned from where he had plunged a thick stick into the muddle of singed leaves, rotating it in an awkward fashion to stir his potion more aptly within the boiling water. As a testament to his previous failed endeavours, several smaller sticks bobbed on the surface of the hot liquid, bark wet and curling in the steam. His own muzzle had been burned somewhat, provoking a curse from the shaman as he dropped his stirring tool onto the ground and bristled at the appearance of another male.
A extending of his muzzle into the moist air brought the scent of the Creek; this was one of Fox's, truly. Lecter did not see Jinx having invited the man and his wife to depart with them. Therefore, he said nothing, wondering if the redwolf had sent the Warden to spy upon him.
“ Is there something you have need of?” the bloodstained shaman inquired coldly, the ice of his eyes seeking to turn aside the fierce glow of the other's gaze. “ If you do not, depart; I am busy.”
With a lingering glance to the gunmetal man, the Eta turned, lowering his muzzle to retrieve the stick and plunge it with a spray of hissing droplets back into the 'tea' he had created, which was beginning to perfume the steam with an acrid herbal scent.
"No." He muttered, calm but firm in his tone. The one word answered the man's initial question while also providing a refusal to his order. It didn't really bother him to linger, although he felt the pull of his weighted ego and subtly lifted his head and tail, before stirring the fog with it a moment later and allowing the appendage to settle. Njal watched the edge. His gaze trailed to the gaunt man and his stick, but could not figure out on his own what was going on.
The steam which rose from the pool had become clouded. It wasn't a very strong tint, but enough to pique Njal's interest further. He crept closer, and was foolish enough to drift alongside Lecter to a degree that his face was quite close to the concoction. The scent was strong. It reached in to his nostrils and even slipped across his tongue, pungent with its odious perfume. As the warden pulled back, he sputtered softly, gasping for cooler, cleaner air. "What is it?" He rumbled with a grimace - nose crinkling in distaste.
![[Image: tumblr_inline_n0g8wdT6TA1qfodva.gif]](https://31.media.tumblr.com/7a0549081b8628970dcc488f90a92c64/tumblr_inline_n0g8wdT6TA1qfodva.gif)
“”
At the other's words, Lecter gave a snort of irritation but said nothing more. His presence would not deter the shaman from his tasks. He stirred the tea a few moments longer, laughing inwardly at the gray warden's spitting distaste. However, he did not give an answer, pulling back to drop the stick to the loam and return to the steaming water with the tortoiseshell.
Eyes squinted against the white heat of his concoction, Lecter maneuvered himself onto hindlegs, bracing forepaws against the edge of the rock depression, and lowered the shell toward the water. Gingerly, Lecter pressed down with the object, sending bleakly coloured water swirling into the ivory depression of the shell.
With the same meticulous movements, the shaman set the shell down upon the ground and sniffed its contents. The Creek's Warden had gone quite ignored through all of this, but now Lecter lifted his icewater gaze to the male. “ It is a new method of healing I have devised. The purpose of this potion is to bring strength.” A push of his paw slid the container of gently sloshing water toward Njal. “ Drink, if you would like.”
Unbeknownst to the other, Lecter had mixed a great quantity of poppyseed and one or two shadow-mushrooms into the boiled mess, along with geranium and lemon balm. The result now cooled before the gunmetal wolf: a heavy method of ending pain, and perhaps life for one too young or too weak to withstand the effects of the narcotic, which was also a powerful hallucinogenic. The lemon balm was thick upon the surface of the water, cloying the scent of the mixture with citrus. Lecter himself planned to sample the mixture, but not until the other hand. An experiment, of sorts.
But there was mention of strength. The carapace was pushed towards him and, when hurried, the liquid perfumed in to the air.
Njal did not trust this man. There was something about him that unnerved the stalwart defender, chilling him despite the heat of the pools. Still, he was of Swiftcurrent; he was trusted enough by Fox to keep him around, and for that Njal's trust was bolstered. Had he known better he would have run far from Lecter and his potion - but he did not. A small flick of his tongue across the surface of the concoction did not bring him sweet but bitter. Earthy notes like pine and dirt, but gutted by the heat of the water. It was foul, once again causing Njal's face to crease. His shoulders shuddered as he reversed a step, lips smacking and tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth - burned maybe, or just resistant to the taste.
With a few sputtering coughs he finally quieted, and levelled a sharp eyed stare upon Lecter. Dubious and worried, but showing only hostility. It would take time for the mixture to truly set within his system.
He had not expected the gunmetal Warden to trust so blindly, and watched with a cold expression upon his face as the salmon tongue of the other darted out toward the undoubtedly bitter brew Lecter had concocted. When Njal surfaced, sputtering, the shaman met his eyes, extending a forepaw to drag the shell back toward him. He would not wait for the effects to take hold in the other; he had carefully measured how much of the liquid the other Creek wolf had drunk, and would not consume as much.
Lapping at the 'tea' himself, albeit briefly, Lecter settled his haunches upon the ground and gazed past the hostile eyes of the Warden. He did not know how the man would fare, but he would not have it said that he poisoned the Warden, and so he would stay, to monitor Njal's forced progress through the land of spirits.
At length, Lecter returned his eyes to the gunmetal face. “ What do you see?” the shaman muttered softly; perhaps he meant the cold attention of the other toward him, or perhaps it was a deeper message he sought to convey, seeking the inexorable dilation of Njal's pupils and the relaxation of his body into the arms of the Gods.
It seemed that while he sat there time passed very slowly and very quickly at the same time; his mind could not decide upon either event. Everything else began to happen swiftly. Pupil dilation, his eyelids at half-mast as the golden gaze set upon the steam, and suddenly a voice. "What do you see?" Having never experienced anything like this before, Njal was not prepared for the auditory hallucinations (or any hallucinations); the voice held no bearer and it contorted upon the skin of the thick fog, coupled with the hiss of the water.
One particular hiss caught his attention and Njal shifted to look out in to the hot pools, unable to unroot his paws from the earth but canting his head and slowly pivoting his ears. There was another hiss, and another, each duller than the last. Not high in pitch but low and rumbling, like a great beast warning away the warden. He did not realize how long passed after the words were spoken, but he held no answer. Njal couldn't speak even if he had wanted to, as his tongue failed to exist in his current state. He watched the swirling mist and his mind began to put meaning to the shapes.
Something touched the water - a bug, maybe a damp leaf on the wind - and the shrieking steam became a column that narrowed and then grew bilious. It forked and grew before his eyes, forming at first a tree with many branches. The edges of the image tapered out, and Njal caught himself thinking of how beautiful it was - but the image changed. It swirled and became a massive heart with great pulsations ruling it. The man took a needed gasp of air and his head drooped with the effort. Njal's drooping had brought him close to the pool's edge and it was a wonder that he did not fall in and melt away himself.
Breaking his gaze with the steam also broke the image, which had morphed again. It was a face now akin to what one views in dreams. Pieces of familiarity lingered in the contours of it, but it was already fading and melting away. Rounded ears set apart further, and the muzzle of the stranger became pointed; it wasn't a wolf at all. "I've seen you," Njal finally managed to mumble - not in response to the shaman, having forgotten that he was there altogether.
The figure opened it's mouth and sneered with tiny teeth, and a great roar came from its mouth that became high and sharp and pierced through him. Njal stumbled backwards with heavy steps and bowed to his belly. The numb of his body must have been wearing away. In a sudden panic the man shut his eyes and appeared to wince away from the monster before him; I can't see you, you can't see me. When he opened his eyes once more the strange creature had become something else.
Sunlight caught upon the white smoke above the water. It was tinged with blue from the overcast sky (how long had they been here?) and the face there was now a sphere. It glowed with remnant blue, becoming a tapered shape like a raindrop. The sphere shrunk in to a bead and suddenly came at him; he thought the light went through him and so he stumbled back again, tripping on his legs and his fright. The next time he heard a rumble it was behind him and so he whipped around - catching the figure of Lecter in his peripheral - and faced the light which he believed now haunted him.
It was similar in shape now to the figure he had seen in his den. The wound on his head began to ache dully because he was really Harry Potter reincarnated but the pain dulled the feelings of the drugs. Njal reached for the figure in his prone state, baring teeth in a yellowed sneer which grew wider and more savage as he got closer to the bulbous shape. "You followed me." He stated to the figure only he could see - not knowing that Lecter was following his own spectres. His voice, although rumbling, had been gutted of feeling. Through the bared teeth he only stated fact; "Leave me be!" The man lurched and snapped his teeth through the shining light and it dispersed - but then formed in to separated figures, which he then turned to gnash his fangs at.
The tittering of birds became laughter. The figures he snapped at were nothing until the laughter corrupted them - solidified by this, the light condensed in to a shape that was brief but recognizable. "A badger?" He blurted as he stumbled, fur bristling wildly. Njal patrolled between the sulking animal and Lecter nearby, but then turned and made to charge the creature. He stumbled and this time did not raise himself. The badger came closer, it's eyes shining blue like clear sky.
"Sir," Njal finally rasped with his chin planted on the soil and body coiling up like a worried child; referring to the potion-maker. "...make them leave."
A low laugh slithered into Lecter's ears; Lynx slinked close. What have you done? She purled in a voice that caused the shaman's blood to run hot. Lecter turned to spot his Totem, but She had pulled out of eyesight, though the touch of Her body pressed with feline sensuality against His own. I have allowed him to find himself,
Lecter murmured aloud, eyes fixed upon the gunmetal wolf as he began to slip into the first throes of inebriation. The potion was also working in the witch; he lay down upon the earth, eyes slitting into crescents.
Njal snapped and snarled at spirits that Lecter had not been granted sight to see, but eventually he too succumbed to the call of the ground. A begging, child's tone floated toward the shaman, but he could not be roused. A great black shadow was approaching, and the relaxed fibres of his body all yearned for the coming of Sos.
I cannot,
he muttered to the Warden, tongue lolling, saliva patting to the ground. The great shape loomed ever closer, fierce, inexorable, and Lecter felt a whine burst from his chest as he prostrated himself before the mass that soon coalesced into the form of the Dark Bear, the Black God. He walks with spirits,as do I, Mighty One,
Lecter explained, and he does not believe as I do.
He wished to see Sos trample Njal's spirit for his doubting, but he would be content with whatever He chose to do.
With his belly pressed in to the soil and rock beneath him, he quietly yowled at the figure as it came closer. As the badger took a more solid form (rooted to Njal's mental identification) it swelled and grew to an immense size; halting with it's mouth open as if to consume the man's face. He felt hot breath wheeze past his features and squeezed his eyes shut.
As Njal did not know of the bear gods in any great manner, it would be unlikely that his spiritual awakening would come in the form of the great hulking spirits. The badger ghost did grow, however. It swelled and became a great and blinding monument of steam and light. What Njal saw touched upon the roots of his own heritage in the North; his mind connected to his father's pantheon and the mixed gods and goddesses back upon Markarth Peak. There was a muddied fray of spirits there, many of which he did not believe in.
Except now, Njal was made to reconsider.
The badger held no significance to him. It was a creature he had seen upon his first days amongst the creek wolves - it only became relevant after the cougar attack and a blow to his head, but he was not aware of this. Perhaps he had seen the goddess Syn in the mouth of his den that day, protecting him and his wife from troubles he had imagined. The goddess that sprung to his mind now was not a protective spirit but a vengeful one - the drowned woman, Marzanna. Complying to his thoughts, the creature which sat above him began to hiss with laughter. It's gaping mouth - set with rows upon rows of teeth - dripped a warm spray across his face. Anointing it with saliva (which happened to just be condensed water that steamed by his scrunched face).
Njal mewled and pawed at the earth, wishing he could make the effects ebb - but there was nothing he could do. Waiting would serve a purpose but it would be a difficulty, for the sounds of Lecter moving in the dirt only fueled more of an imagination in the stout man. The spirit began to roam but at the same time, it felt like it was still breathing across his face. An immense deity had been summoned and refused to leave, forcing the proud and able warrior to grovel at its feet.
A hysterical, high-pitched laugh broke from the shaman as he wondered just when it had occurred to Njal that he had not fed him a potion of strength — or if it ever had. Ground into the dirt, he watched as Sos held the pair of them down and ran great eyes across the gunmetal form of the Warden. He himself said nothing as his God appraised Njal, though the marrow of his bones called for a sacrifice.
I see nothing wrong with this one, Sos growled, huge paws pacing toward Lecter. He is merely as ignorant as the rest of them. The Dark One turned to the shaman now. The cold stare fell upon him, and the madman quailed beneath the weight of his deity's scrutiny and the lash of the potion upon his soul.
You must bring me sacrifice, Sos rumbled, before a flash of great white teeth heralded His departure, and the shaman lay upon his side, breathing heavily, sweat beading upon his skin beneath the bloodstained fur. It would take some time before the effects of what he had drunk fully dissipated, but for now he pulled himself to a sitting position and watched Njal closely, silently.
The healer too was still beneath the grip of the drug, but his senses sharpened when the gunmetal warden began to spasm in the dirt. With a grunt, Lecter gathered himself to his paws and approached Njal unsteadily, cursing the weak constitution of the male that disallowed him to handle the mixture of plants he had consumed. He had nothing with him to stop the seizing, and so limped in a circle, the pain in his joints exacerbated by the extreme movements, nudging such things out of the way that would injure Njal.
Thin forelegs were flung across the barrel of the grey wolf's heaving ribs; Lecter did not press down, but sought to hold Njal in one place if possible, or at least lessen his heaving. And all the while he cursed a thousand elements and greatly abused the Loa that surely lingered roundabout, speaking incantations to keep them from slipping into Njal's mouth and nostrils.
(end at your post if you want, or continue!)
When at last the spasms left Njal's body, the shaman backed away. Icewater eyes remained on the Warden, but the gentle rise and fall of his ribs revealed the dissipation of the potion. Sighing, Lecter gathered himself to his paws, pacing once toward the muzzle of the gunmetal wolf, to approve for himself the slow warm breaths.
Eventually, the madman departed, refusing to glance backwards at Njal before he drifted from view. Let the spirits take him; if he returned to Swiftcurrent, it would not be by Lecter's hand.